Yes it is a metal gear refrence

In Trevor's dream, he was back where he'd first met Michael—in that tiny, rundown hangar. He'd talked, traded and thieved his way into getting his hands on it after the Air Force spat him out. Done everything he could just to keep flying.

Michael had heard it was “Philips” he needed. A young pilot with a battered crop duster and a reputation for keeping his mouth shut. Barely more than a kid, really—naive enough to undercharge, reckless enough to take the smuggling jobs nobody else wanted. If the cargo fit in the plane and the money was upfront, Trevor would fly it.

Their meeting played out in front of him again in his sleep. It was almost exactly the same as it had happened the first time—Michael strutting in, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

He didn't apologize for interrupting Trevor while he tinkered with his plane. Didn't even hesitate. Just walked right up and started talking like Trevor already worked for him. 

Trevor remembered thinking he was an asshole.

But not this time.

This time, Dream-Trevor practically fell to his knees at the sight of him. His lip trembled, vision blurring as he asked Michael if it was really him. If he was really still alive.

Dream-Michael didn't answer. He just kept talking through the haze of smoke curling from his lips, describing the cargo as though the previous twenty years had never happened. 

But it had happened. Trevor knew it. He looked down at his hands—they were tattooed and scarred and battered. Older hands. Hands that had lived through everything that came after this.

Trevor remembered it all. Every bank job. Every car chase.

Michael’s blood in the snow.

Dream-Michael didn’t seem to know.

And unlike Trevor, he was young again. The light was still in his eyes, untouched by all the responsibilities that would come later. No wedding ring on his finger. 

Trevor begged him to listen. Begged him to just tell him he was really there, that he hadn’t bled out in the cold after all. For a few perfect seconds, he stopped caring whether it made sense. He could already feel himself believing that none of it had really happened, that there was still time.

That they were about to get back in that plane together and start again.

But Michael looked straight through him.

And then… he left. He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushed it beneath his boot, and turned away. 

Trevor was screaming.

Michael got further and further away, heading for the hangar door. Trevor tried to follow, but it was like pushing against concrete. There was an invisible barrier between them: Michael, before everything. Trevor, after.

Trevor pounded his fists against it. Kicked it. Cried. Begged.

Useless.

He was trapped on the wrong side of twenty years, forced to watch Michael slip away from him all over again.

The crying didn't stop when he woke. Trevor squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to force himself back into the dream. He'd take the screaming. He'd take the begging. He'd watch Michael leave him over and over again if it meant just a few more minutes with him. 

.

Michael’s dream was different.

It took place exactly where he was—lying in a king-sized bed in Los Santos, the air con turned up to max against the summer heat.

It was the shadow he noticed first.

Sprawling across the floor through the gap in the bedroom door, the size of it felt wrong. Michael couldn't quite make sense of it. It looked almost human.

Almost.

But if it was human, then someone was standing in the hallway, completely still.

Waiting.

Then came the noise.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

The door creaked open slowly, the strange shadow now stretching all the way to the foot of Michael's bed. 

Thunk. Thunk.

It didn’t sound like knocking. It was more like heavy boots on the floorboards, except… wrong. As if the boot-wearer couldn’t bend their knees properly...

Of course, Real-Michael would’ve yelled out, pulled a gun on the shadow and demanded to know what the hell was going on. But Dream-Michael was frozen. He was pinned to the mattress, completely voiceless and powerless to do anything but cower.

Thunk. Thunk.

Closer.

Michael’s brain desperately tried to make sense of the figure coming through the doorway. It was only a dream—and dreams were confusing. Distorted. They warped faces and twisted shapes.

Then the recognition finally struck.

And so did the terror.

It was Him. Trevor.

Michael was sure he must've been screaming. His mouth was open, his chest straining from the effort, but no noise would escape him.

Trevor continued towards him. Thunk. Thunk. Heavy, like every organ, every skin cell in his body was burdened by some impossible weight.

Closer and closer to the bed, until there was nowhere left for Michael to look but his eyes. 

Eyes that were once a deep brown were now light. Clouded and blue—no, grey. Mottled and empty. His irises looked like they'd swallowed their own pupils. 

Eyes that looked like they could no longer see anything at all. But Michael knew they could see him.

Trevor loomed over him, wearing exactly what he'd been wearing that day in Dorff. His green duffle coat was torn and slimy. His mullet clung wet against his skull, strands tangled with algae and river weed.

His moustache barely concealed the steady stream of filthy water pouring from his mouth. It was splashing onto the floorboards, leaving a wet trail all the way from the bedroom door to the bed.

Michael could feel the droplets hitting his face.

Bugs, worms and tiny crustaceans had embedded themselves into Trevor's greyed skin. Some were still moving.

Michael stared up at him, breathless with horror. 

In that moment, it made perfect sense that Trevor had drowned.

Michael had convinced himself T was dead a long time ago. He had to. The alternative was that he was still out there, alone and suffering for all these years. The alternative was that one day, he'd figure it all out and come looking for him.

No.

Trevor had to be dead.

He'd buried him a thousand times in his imagination during that first year after the North Yankton job. It was always the same—his mind would lay Trevor to rest so that he could finally move on. Forget about him. 

And it was probably true, right? Trevor probably topped himself shortly after—whether on purpose or not. Better than being on the run. Better than living with the memory of his friends being murdered by the feds.

The idiot probably finally got so high that he fell asleep near a river. The water took him. He never woke up. Hell, it was Trevor. He probably finally pissed off the wrong person and ended up fish food.

It all made sense.

Trevor was dead. It was for the best. It saved Michael. It saved his family. And maybe, in some twisted way, it saved Trevor too.

But now…

He was here. Standing over his bed. 

Now, Trevor knew the truth.

“T-t-t—T...” Michael stammered. “Y-you gotta understand—”

The words wouldn't come out properly. They tangled together in his mouth.

Another droplet of water fell from Trevor's lips.

Plop.

Straight into Michael's open mouth.

He spluttered violently, choking on it. The water tasted foul. Stagnant.

Rotting.

“T!”

But Trevor didn't react. He just kept staring. A maggot pushed through the flesh of his cheek, splitting the skin as it forced its way free. It wriggled down his jaw and disappeared into the collar of his coat.

Michael made a strangled noise.

“T-Trevor, I—I can explain—”

Another droplet landed on his face.

Then another.

Then another.

The room smelled like river water and decay.

Trevor leaned closer.

Closer.

Michael couldn't breathe.

At first he thought it was the water—that somehow it had found its way into his lungs. He could feel it there, cold and filthy, filling him from the inside.

But it wasn’t the water. It was Trevor’s fingers around his throat, getting tighter, tighter, tighter.

It was here: the day Michael’d always secretly known would come. His worst fear.

Trevor had finally found him, and he was going to take his revenge.

He was going to drag Michael back down to hell with him, back where he belonged…

.

Michael was still choking and gagging when he woke.

His throat felt shredded from crying out—apparently he'd been making the screams he couldn't turn into sound in the dream, after all.

His heart was racing, and the air conditioning did nothing to stop the sweat running down his back. He took a few deep breaths, letting the relief that it had all just been a dream slowly wash over him.

Trevor was probably dead.

And Michael was safe.

He settled himself back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, unable to shake the memory of those terrible, dead eyes. 

Neither of them knew it yet, but one day, years from now, the pair would meet again.

Trevor would tell Michael that he’d mourned him. Michael would tell Trevor that he’d missed him.

That night in 2009, Michael mourned Trevor one last time in his head. He pulled his bloated body from the river. He laid him to rest. He said his goodbyes. He moved on.

Then he rolled over and went back to sleep. 

You got in the passenger seat of his pick-up truck and he wasted no time in ripping out of his driveway. He was a man on a mission. You didn’t know much about his relationship with that Michael guy he’d been talking about but Trevor had been on edge ever since he heard him on TV. You hadn’t pried. You wanted to but you didn’t want to put him in an even worse mood. Thankfully, there was a comfortable silence that settled over the two of you, set aside the occasional road rage from your boss, who was actively cussing someone out for merging in front of him. You stared out the window as the desert scenery merged into highways and hills, sky bright and blue and full of white clouds, dancing in the wind. Your mind was stuck on Trevor’s comment and you weren’t quite sure why, but you were feeling bold. Maybe you’d do something about it! You shifted your body so you were facing towards Trevor. His eyes were focused on the road, much to your surprise, but that meant he didn’t notice your advances until your fingers were sweeping over the crotch of his dirty blue jeans. You pinched the zipper in between your pointer and your thumb before clearing your throat to actually get his attention.

“Don’t get me killed, ‘kay?’

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Sucking you off, duh.”

Trevor let out a hearty laugh like he was in disbelief. “By all means, darling, go ahead.” His hand, all tattooed and calloused, caressed your face and squeezed your cheeks like you were a toy. “Can’t promise I’m gonna be very gentle.”

He wasn’t kidding. His cock was barely in your mouth when a hand grabbed at the back of your hair. You licked a stripe from the base to the tip and without warning, he pushed your head down. You gagged and he laughed.

“Come on, you can take it.”  

You recovered quicker than you expected. Your head bobbed up and down, wet noises masking the sound of the radio. You tried to ignore the way he was totally swerving. Trevor's grip tightened on your hair whenever he jerked back in between the lines. His groans made up for how rough he was with you. Maybe not for totally putting your life on the line but hey! It was Trevor. You'd gotten pretty used to it. 

“Fuckin’ cops…” Trevor mumbled under his breath.

With a concerned look in your eyes, you stared up at him, cock falling out of your mouth. “Trev, what did you just say?”

“Yeah, you might wanna sit up,” he said calmly, shoving his still-hard dick back into his pants. “We’re not done. Don’t think I’m finished with you.”

You wiped the drool off of your face and sat up straight, avoiding eye contact with the cops that were blazing past the two of you. The second his truck crossed into Los Santos, Trevor was pulling into an empty alley and parking. You didn’t have a chance to argue. By the time the words were about to leave your lips, Trevor was out of his ride and pulling you out of it.

“Told you I wasn’t done with you, sweetcheeks.” Trevor pushed you forward, bending you over the dirty red hood of his truck in a swift motion. You put your hands out to catch yourself as his hips jutted into your ass. He made quick work of your pants and underwear, dropping them to your knees and lining himself up with your entrance. “Think you can handle it? Think you can handle Uncle T without getting your pretty little self caught?”

“Trevor, just fuck me already,” you whined, pushing back into him.

“Whatever you want, babe.” He thrusts into you once, filling you up quicker than you expected. The moan he let out was guttural. Your head rolled back, nails scratching at the already chipped paint. One thing about Trevor was that if he was fucking you, he was fucking you hard. His goal was to hamper your ability to walk every time. He slammed inside of you, hands roaming all over your body. He never knew where to put them.

You knew he was taking out a lot of anger on you. You couldn't imagine what it was like to find out someone you thought was dead had been alive for the past 10 years and lied about it. The least you could do was offer him some reprieve.

“You're so fucking tight,” Trevor whined, nose buried in your hair. He was kind of obsessed with the way you smelled and he made that very, very clear. One of his hands was pressed to your neck and the other squeezed your waist. He wasn't choking you. Not yet, at least. Just asserting some kind of possession over you. Your face was buried in your sleeve, trying to keep your moaning to a minimum, but it was exceptionally hard when Trevor’s cock was hitting all the right places inside of you.

You made a mental note to yourself to let him fuck you when he was angry more often.

Very few words were exchanged on your part, as you were trying to preserve some of your dignity and keep quiet. Trevor, on the other hand? He was a talker. Every thrust was accompanied with a nickname and some of the dirtiest ramblings you’d ever heard. You let out a gasp as his hips snapped against yours particularly hard.

“C’mon, you’re doin’ so good for me,” Trevor grunted into your ear, tightening his grasp on your neck. He pushed your head closer to his. “You can handle it.”

You really didn’t have a say in the matter, and you were perfectly content with that.

“Yes sir,” you choked out, words muffled into your hand. Your head felt all warm and fuzzy, eyes closing as you tried to focus on your breathing. Your hand met Trevor’s on your neck, digging your fingers into his skin. He let go just enough for you to catch your breath. There was no way you were lasting if he kept going like this – violent and relentless.

Trevor finally let you go and you collapsed onto the hood, back arching into his thrusts. His hands ran down your torso and grasped tightly on your hips, pulling you into him to meet his pace. You were still trying to be quiet but the undeniable sound of skin on skin wouldn’t be hard to hear for people walking past. You closed your eyes to save some of your dignity, but Trevor? He was loud and proud. He growled your name like a feral beast – you were the only thing quenching his thirst. And the worst part is, you fucking loved it. You loved how obvious he was. You loved the idea that somebody could catch you. You loved letting him use you like a fleshlight. Your orgasm was seconds away from ripping through your body as you buried your mouth in your sleeve once more, trying to mute yourself as much as possible. 

“Let me hear you, sexy. Give me somethin’ to cum for,” Trevor groaned. Your eyes were practically rolling back in your head. He grabbed the hand covering your mouth and held it behind your back. “Who’s fucking your brains out right now?”

“Fuck, Trevor,” you finally whined. Your other hand shook as you tried to keep yourself upright. 

“Oh yeah, that’s fucking it. You’re perfect. Fuck, I love you.” Trevor leaned over you, hot breath against your neck, chest pressed against your back. His thrusts – sloppy and harsh – jerked to a stop as he came inside of you. An exasperated cry left your lips as you came. At that point, you didn’t give a shit who heard or saw – and people certainly had noticed. It was just another day in Los Santos for them, but for you? You hadn’t came that hard in a while.

You flopped into the passenger seat once more, trying to catch your breath. Trevor’s cum was still dripping down your thighs and it was probably getting on the seat but you couldn’t really care. You watched as Trevor pulled up his pants, fumbling with his belt in one hand as he dialed Ron’s number with the other. You laughed at the spectacle as you tried to find something to clean yourself off with. Dirty tissues, a random piece of cloth – finally, your saving grace; a Cluckin’ Bell napkin. You cleaned yourself off and shimmied your pants back on. You were still shaking.

First, it had happened with Franklin, his best friend had started to guide and train the young man, and now it was happening all over again, with you. However, there was a few rather important differences between you and Frank.

One: You were a girl. You were not aggressive or intimidating, similar to most other criminals. Instead, you were rather small and unassuming.

And two: You were absolutely beautiful. To this day, Trevor swears he has never once perceived anything quite as gorgeous as yourself. Within his mind, you were comparable to that of a celestial being, an extraordinary creature who possessed the beauty that a mere human, such as himself, was completely unable to comprehend. You were adorable, attractive, and extremely captivating. The older man often found himself occupied by the thought of your luscious hair and the vision of your flawless frame. Trevor would spend hours simply reminiscing upon your signature scent or remembering the sound of your angelic voice. He just couldn't seem to erase the thought of you from his mind.

And the fact that you were just so fucking perfect only managed to further confused Trevor. Why would you, a young, beautiful, and extremely intelligent woman, decide to partner up with Michael, that old, fat, piece of shit. It was honestly rather amusing to observe you located beside the other man. It was as if you were the epitome of beauty, and Michael was the depiction of Hell on Earth. The entire situation was just extremely foreign to Trevor. Why Mike but not him? He was obviously much more interesting and reliable compared to his best friend. It just didn't make any sense.

Michael had introduced the two of you, rather begrudgingly, during a random mission. Originally, the expedition had only been scheduled for you and your mentor, a job where the two of you would simply execute a home robbery. It was a rather easy and effortless mission for a beginner, such as yourself, and Mike had regarded it as an extremely elementary job to start with. A simple task where you were allowed to gain your composure and further improve your skills.

Yet, Trevor had managed to somehow appear, randomly arriving beside you and Michael whilst the two of you scoped out the unsuspecting home.

It was extremely obvious that your mentor did not desire to acquaint you with the other man, but the entire interaction was seemingly unavoidable. No matter how many times Mike attempted to push his best friend away, both literally and metaphorically, none of his efforts had succeeded. He would beg for Trevor to simply disappear, to leave the two of you alone, and he had even regarded him with some rather choice words. But nothing appeared to work. The other man was comparable to some sort of immovable force.

Mr. Philips was immediately captivated by you, gazing towards you as if you were some sort of blinding light. Within Trevor's mind, the entire world around him had suddenly vanished. Everything within his vision had disappeared into darkness, except you. And the older man worried that he might have been going insane the second muffled, romantic music had started to echo within the confines of his brain.

"My God." Trevor had muttered as soon as he perceived your presence, his tone both hoarse and breathless "You are absolutely beautiful, sweetheart."

Immediately, Michael became extremely defensive, seemingly attempting to protect you from the stranger in front of you. Your mentor blatantly dismissed the other man, expressing his desperation for him to simply disappear. Mike was aware of the fact that every time T had managed to arrived, things had always went South.

"Jesus, Trev, don't be a fucking creep. Leave her alone." Michael spat, puncturing his elbow against the other mans torso, in an attempt to physically shove him away.

Typically, Trevor would become enraged by such a gesture. The other man was easily offended and insulted by others, and he did not appreciate being referred to as such names. He was quick to anger and determined to defend himself, especially when he was blatantly disrespected by others.

However, within that moment, it was as if nothing else appeared to exist within his mind, except for you. Michael could have called him a shit eating dog fucker, and Trevor wouldn't have even noticed. It was as if you were some sort of all encompassing being to the older man, and the entire world had become both muffled and hazy around him.

"She is an absolute doll, Mikey. Where did you get her?" Trevor inquired, guiding a gentle hand towards your hair before he started to tenderly twirl your locks between his grimy fingers.

Trevor was only further astonished when you had failed to reject his rather bold gesture. Usually, women were often rather unnerved or irritated by the older mans general existence, blatantly rejecting him and not afraid to voice their repulsion. He was accustomed to receiving slaps or hits from women, after he had regarded them within a rather odd manner, such as caressing their hair or gazing towards them without shame.

But not you. No. Instead, you simply just stood there, smiling softly up towards Trevor whilst he continued to twirl your hair between his fingers. In fact, you didn't even flinch. You remained dormant within your position, calm and rather flustered whilst the older man consistently caressed your locks.

From the older mans perspective, it was as if you were some sort of flawless nymph standing before him, displaying your adorable smile and viewing him with soft vision whilst you allowed him to repeatedly pet you, as if you were just some small, fragile animal. You did not regard Trevor with fear or terror, as most others did. Instead, it appeared as if you rather enjoyed his display of affection, completely unbothered and rather content.

"What the fuck are you doing, T!?" Michael suddenly declared, a mixture of confusion, hysteria, and slight disgust audibly laced within his voice, as if the man before you was some kind of dangerous creature, a being you should be extremely cautious of. But within your mind, Trevor appeared rather cute as he twirled your hair, an adorable expression of captivation etched across his features whilst he adored you. It had been a long while since someone had last admired you so boldly, and you cant deny the reality that you rather enjoyed it "Stop fuckin' touchin' her, she's not some fucking toy."

As your mentor spoke, he swiftly brought a firm hand up towards your hair before harshly slapping Trevor's adventurous palm away from your locks. It was an obvious attempt to physically detach the other man from you, literally removing his hand from your hair.

Yet, it was as if Trevor hadn't even perceived Michael's gesture. The other man did not glare within his best friends direction before quickly beginning to scold his rather blunt actions. Instead, Trevors hand just slowly started to migrate back towards your face, as if there was some sort of invisible, magnetic force drawing the two of you together.

In all honesty, you had rather enjoyed the older mans affection. You weren't exactly sure why, being both pet and caressed by a filthy drug addict had never been something you had quite enjoyed. However, within regards to Trevor, it was as if you had just become cognitive. You were suddenly aware of a fact about yourself that you had never previously considered.

For the brief moment that Michael had successfully managed to tear the other man's hand away from your hair, for the few seconds that you lacked the warm touch you received from Trevor, a hollow pit of emptiness had suddenly appeared within the depths of your stomach. Similar to the sensation you would perceive only moments before you began to cry. It was as if the older man's grasp had been the one thing you never knew you required, the final piece of the puzzle that made you feel complete.

Following that day, it was never just you and Michael ever again. As much as your mentor had despised such a situation, Trevor had always managed to infiltrate your time spent together. No matter if you were participating within some sort of mission, or simply hanging out together, the older man had always managed to appear. And you didn't quite mind. In fact, you rather preferred such a reality.

Michael wasn't ignorant to the manner in which Trevor had started to alter your behaviors. Sure, you had always been rather daring and confident, as if you were physically drawn to any form of thrill or excitement. However, when the other man was located by your side, you evolved from both courageous and determined, into much more dangerous and rather foolish. Your confidence was no longer calculated and assured. Instead, you had become rather naive and foolish with your bravery.

Trevor would encourage you to participate within rather idiotic or stupid activities, such as murdering random civilians or jumping across roof tops. Actions that were in no way beneficial, and rather just simply stupid. The older man would inspire you to rob convenience stores upon a whim or persuade you into drunken street races. Anything that avidly put yourself in danger.

Yet, you never appeared skeptical or scared. You did not object and you failed to correct Trevor's rather immature directions. In fact, you seemed completely thrilled, enthusiastic in regards to anything that even slightly excited you. Every time the older man had successfully managed to persuade you into murdering an innocent civilian or battling against the police, you seemed extremely prepared, as if there was nothing else within the entire world you would rather participate within.

Everything Michael had previous feared was slowly becoming a reality: He wasn't molding you into a mini version of himself, a delinquent who was both smart and calculated with their decisions. No. Instead, you were transforming into a young, female version of Trevor Philips. You were acting completely erratic and untamed, like a wild animal that had just regained its freedom after escaping from the confines of a zoo.

However, no matter how much shit you had caused, whether that be selling drugs or kidnapping people, the older man would never allow you to actually get into much trouble. In fact, he always took the blame. Trevor would go to jail for you, he would murder the enemies you had created, and he would actually put himself in physical danger, simply in order to protect you. You could have bombed the literal Federal Investigation Bureau, and the older man would have claimed it was him who had executed such an act, just to shield you from any form of punishment.

Soon enough, you found yourself spending a lot more time along side the other man, rather than Michael. You were no longer occupying your afternoons by participating within simple robberies with your mentor. In fact, you had failed to even respond to his numerous messages. Instead, you were much more preoccupied with Trevor. You would take part within major missions, dangerous tasks, and criminal activity together.

Your adventures with Trevor were fun, thrilling, and exciting. It was always interesting to be chased by the police. But with Michael, everything was a lot more business like. There was no fun allowed when working along side Mike, it was all so serious.

Trevor wasn't afraid to boast about his victory or shit talk his best friend, as if you were some sort of trophy he had managed to achieve. Whether you were simply spending time together, or actively participating within a mission, Trevor would not pass up the opportunity to declare something along the lines of: "See? Aint this so much better than hanging out with that bastard, Michael?" Or "Come on, sweetheart, your Uncle T knows how to treat you better than any other man." And it was always extremely obvious who he was referring to within such statements.

Slowly, things between you and Trevor had started to shift. You were no longer working together as accomplices, simply acting as partners or companions. Unlike with Michael, things with the other man were rather blurred and relaxed. Instead, Trevor effortlessly revealed his true emotions towards you, and they certainly were not considered business casual or appropriate.

Whilst located within his truck together, as Trevor was driving the vehicle and you were simply positioned within the passenger seat, the older man would subtly managed to wrap his arm around your shoulders before forcefully dragging you against his side. Just so he could be closer to you whilst driving. Or sometimes, whilst the two of you were relaxing within his home, watching some shitty movie together, the older man would suddenly grasp your face. Trevor would squish your features between his large palms, caressing your skin beneath the pads of his thumbs whilst simply admiring you. And when you would finally inquire about exactly what he was doing, the older man would simply state something along the lines of "You're just so gorgeous, doll. I cant help but adore you."

Trevor was a rather jealous and protective creature, extremely defensive and loyal in regards to what he considered his.

If you were simply interacting with another man, even if it was just Ron or Wayde, the older man's resentment would never fail to appear. If you were chatting with Ron or joking with Wayde, Trevor would practically appear out of thin air. The older man would promptly capture you within his large arms, wrapping his thick hands around your waist, and constricting you against his figure so intensely, you would often struggle to breath.

Even if you were simply ordering your food at a restaurant, or purchasing items within a convenience store, Trevor was not afraid to display the fact that you belonged to him. The older man would suddenly appear behind you, looming beside you like some sort of evil beast. He would glare towards the other individual, his features shrouded within darkness as he attempted to assert his dominance. And as some sort of extra precaution, he would sometimes wrap his arm around your neck.

At first, such a gesture could be perceived as rather affectionate and sweet. But, as his muscles constricted around your throat and he blatantly strained his biceps, it was obvious that Trevor was simply attempting to display his superiority and ward off any other competitors.

Yet, you would never object. Instead, you'd simply continue talking as if nothing was occurring and everything was completely normal. Such events often rewarded you with both weary and hesitant glances from random civilians, as if they were truly concerned regarding your safety. However, you were aware of the reality that Trevor would never truly harm you. Within the older mans mind, you were just a delicate little flower, and he could never even consider stomping upon you. Instead, he was simply just defending what was his. Although his behaviors were often rather rough or harsh, his motives were always tender. It was as if you were a collection of food Trevor had gathered for the winter, and he was determined to destroy anyone who attempted to steal what was rightfully his.

Even though the two of you had never officially become boyfriend and girlfriend, Trevor wasn't afraid to act as such. The older man would call you every morning and each night, spewing affection words dipped within honey as he referred to you as the 'love of his life.' You would often discover small gifts and adorable presents within your mailbox, items Trevor had viewed and was basically required to reward you with. He wasn't afraid to hold your hand or wrap his arms around you, a gesture that friends certainly never executed towards one another. And the older man would often refer to you as if you were his own possession, like you were just for him and no one else.

If you were relaxing within his trailer, splayed across his lap whilst he massaged your back, Trevors rather protective and jealous tendencies would never fail to reveal themselves.

"You never did nothing like this with Mikey, right? I swear to God, if that slimy rat ever-" the older man would begin, each caress and tender rub upon your skin becoming much more harsh and intense with every second his resentment increased.

Trevor was prone to becoming extremely frantic and irrational. If a rather negative thought had managed to burrow itself within his mind, no matter how outrageous it truly was, the older man would instantly become crazed. And within that moment, Trevor had been overwhelmed with the sensation of both anger and rage regarding such a notion, before you had even managed to respond.

Yet, you would quickly interrupt him, successfully dismissing the older mans insecurities before he had eventually managed to explode with fury. And if you had been anyone else, like Ron or Michael, such an interjection would have certainly infuriated Trevor. But with you, he did not mind. In fact, he didn't even notice. You could have slapped the older man across the face, and he probably would have thanked you.

"No, Trev, I never did anything like this with Michael. Only you." You would declare the honest truth, and such a statement always appeared to properly satisfy the older man.

No matter how manic or insane Trevor truly became, whether he was overwhelmed with anger or struggling with sorrow, you would always regard him within such a tender manner. The older man was accustomed to others referring to him with hatred or even violence. But with you, it was entirely different. He could be throwing objects around his trailer, completely overpowered with rage, and you would always treat him as if he was the most delicate creature upon planet Earth. As if he somehow deserved both your patience and affection. And your rather tender and gentle actions only further pleased Trevor.

One evening, following a rather stressful mission where both weapons and violence had been included, you and Trevor were situated within his truck. He had nestled the vehicle within the depths of the mountains, attempting to escape the evasion of the law whilst the two of you both recovered and regained your energy.

The sun had started to set, casting an array of tangerine and marigold hues through the windshield of his truck. Rather quiet music was echoing through the radio, some sort of metal or rock that Trevor favored, whilst the two of you simply sat together. Typically, the older man would be talking, rambling about some sort of none sense you could barely comprehend, all whilst you nodded politely. However, within that moment, the two of you were quiet, simply enjoying each others presence.

The audio of fabric rustling and the weight of Trevor's movements had captured your attention. You glanced towards the older man and perceived the manner in which he had successfully managed to shift within your direction. And as some sort of reward, you had stirred within your seat as well, situating yourself until you were properly facing him.

Trevor's movements were both swift and rapid, his limbs blurring as he reached forwards. His motions had been so quick, the image reminded you of a snake attacking its prey.

The older man had secured his gripped upon your face, clasping his hands around your cheeks and compressing your features within his grasp. At first, you weren't alarmed, assuming that he was simply about to admire you, as he always did. You expected him to gaze into your irises, adoring you with a rather soft and smitten expression plastered across his face.

However, when Trevor swiftly managed to drag you across the expanse of the bench, successfully pinning his face against your own, you momentarily squealed. Your lips connected within a rather harsh and intense manner, causing your teeth to clash and your nose to nudge against his own.

Your hands flew up to the older man's firm shoulders, rewarding him with a rather weak shove. Yet, Trevor did not budge. Instead, he kept his face practically glued to your own whilst he completely devoured your mouth. He lapped and nipped at your lips, his tongue diving into the depth of your mouth as he allowed himself to further explore and savor your taste.

Once your mind had finally acknowledged the fact that it was Trevor who was currently kissing you, the man who had always been so extremely gentle and soft towards you, the individual who had somehow managed to infiltrate each and every one of your waking thoughts, your struggle had slowly ceased.

The older man's attack upon your mouth continued for a long while. He failed to conclude the kiss or detach your lips. Instead, the two of you remained glued together for another ten minutes of so, all whilst Trevors exploration of your mouth persisted.

You practically melted into the embrace. Your hands drifted up the expanse of his neck, tangling your fingers within his thin locks, and even rewarding him with a few, gentle tugs, which he appeared to greatly appreciate, due to the manner in which he would slightly whimper.

Nothing more had transpired that evening. It was as if Trevor was struggling against his own, primal urges, determined to express his appreciation through a much more tender and soft manner, rather than his usual depraved and desperate tendencies. Typically, the older man was prone to sex, regarding it as some sort of transaction. But with you, he was within no rush. Even though he desired nothing more than to simply toss you down upon his bed and finally revel within the sensation of your body wrapped around his own, the older man somehow managed to control himself.

Within Trevors mind, you were absolutely perfect. A flawless and fragile little creature, and he just couldn't bring himself to treat his special little flower with such rough intensity. At least, not yet.

It was all matted too, nearly every strand ending in a knot. Oh did Johnny have his work cut out for him…

The man must have seen Johnny’s face in the mirror, since he suddenly looked ashamed. “‘S that bad?” His voice gruff again– guarded. 

Johnny hesitated for a second, then smiled. “Nah, I can fix it, don’orry!” He grabbed a cape and clipped it around the other’s neck. He was already accepting that he’d be closing tonight, anyway.

“Canne ask ye tae follow mae?” He gestured over to the sinks with his head, to which the other man nodded. Johnny brought him over to one, having him sit down and lean back. He gently centered his head in the sink. Johnny turned on the warm water, making the other tense.

“Too hot?” He turned the water away from his hair, checking it with his hand. It felt fine to him.

Along with the waiting a long time to answer. Eventually, he spoke, “Jus’ not use’ to hot water.”

“Hm.” Johnny turned the temperature down, until it felt almost cold on his clam. He sprayed it over the seated man’s head, who nodded, looking less tense, though nowhere near relaxed. “This better, yeah?”

The other nodded, once. Johnny smiled again, rinsing his hair. There were literal pieces of dirt going down the drain. It had only been a couple minutes worth of silence when Johnny decided to break it again.

“Ye got a name?” He asked, silently praying to every God above that he could get an answer.

After a long hesitation, “Simon” left his lips.